


Hearte

by Authlene, dementedK



Series: καιρός [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Badass Lance, Blood and Injury, Elemental Magic, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Shapeshifting, a little faster than slow burn, and behold my favorite tags, but not your typical SoulmateAU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 21:55:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11090706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Authlene/pseuds/Authlene, https://archiveofourown.org/users/dementedK/pseuds/dementedK
Summary: In a world where people can wield magic and thousand kinds of creatures exist, Keith is on the run because of being a shifter; a rare ability coveted by many, especially by the Galra and their tyranny. That is until one day, he stumbles upon a hot stranger... and fall straight into his arms. Naked.





	1. Lost and Found (in your eyes)

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting since forever to write something for this wonderful ship. But writer block has been a little shit for my whole life so I've to drag Mel into this as well. 
> 
> Well, here, please accept our contribution to the Voltron fandom.
> 
> -authlene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The Red Stone Arc**

The metallic smell of fresh blood is the only constant companion Keith has as he, with the grace of someone who has been doing it since forever, changes his appearance in a blink of an eye to match the crowd he tries in a vain attempt to blend in. His scales smooth out into warm skin, his claws morphs into dull nails. The slits in his eyes blur into dark irises while his towering structure shifts into a much smaller form, letting him get drowned easier by the horde of magical and non-magical creatures around him.

Maybe he should have shifted into an even smaller being, he thinks. A mouse, perhaps? That way, the trail of red he left behind wouldn’t be so bothersome. The threat of getting stomped on be damned. Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t really in any place to choose at that time when he was forced to escape to this neutral city. His mind was in a too jumbled state to plan anything. To save himself, his magic acted on its own. So, a human it is.

Good thing, after a street and a few shops, the bleeding decreases somehow. It is still red and it still hurts like shit, sure. But at the very least, it isn’t dripping anymore. Two quick turns and a not-so-suspicious jog later, he also kind of succeeds on putting a good confusion to his track. At least this way, the four bastards left on his trail has to use their sense of smell only.

Even so, the bloody jacket that he couldn’t just throw kind of give him away. Not to mention that blood is pretty strong for the nose even with the mixtures of scents all around him. It is already a big miracle this time of the day is so busy that no one really looks twice in his direction. Keith doesn’t want to further test his luck. He has to slip away and he has to do it quick. The only ways to get out of this cat and mouse situation are 1) to quit the game; which means successfully disappearing from the radar for another year or so. Dying is not an option, surely, so 2) kill the other remaining players (preferably in cold blood); which, alas, he kind of cannot do right now.

For one, he can’t start a rampage in the middle of the city. Or anywhere in the city, at all. He doesn’t need more people involved and it’s not like _anyone_ can help him. His chasers also seem to agree to not make any ruckus from the way they do not come running after him like madmen in the road. Instead, blending in the crowd as well. Probably because their army hasn’t arrived. Yet.

Two, he is wounded as all hell. Before escaping here, he already had a fight that left him bruised. Also, a dull pain in the back of his head, must be courtesy of the damned tracking magic the druid a few street behind him casts ( _shit,_ he almost forgets about the druid! they must’ve put something on him to enhance the magic but for the life of him, he doesn’t know what is it), makes him throw away any thought of starting _another_ one. The bleeding wound around his middle is also throbbing so hard, Keith is sure his lip is swollen from biting it too much to keep his groans.

Maybe he can run fast enough into the forest that surrounds the city before shifting into a goddamn dragon. Or maybe a Griffin. Hell, even a dove as long as he could escape and start hiding in another creature's territory as per usual. He remembers the merpeople are still _free_ and at peace. Plus, the bastards, the purple sadistic monsters—the _Galra_ are weak in the water.

Except, he is also weak in the water for any extended amount of time.

Stifling a grunt as someone passes him harshly, Keith wills his body to move faster without ripping his own skin open even more. Quick, quick, quick. He has to move quicker. It is proven to be a hard task, however, and so he desperately looks around to find a gap he could use to slip in and shift. Well, if there is one rule about staying alive for someone like Keith, the first fucking one would be to not parade your gift to the whole world. That would be the dumbest suicidal act any shapeshifter could do. Even shifting in an area remotely close to another living being is already a risk. But it’s not like he has many other choices. Being an extinct creature sure is a pain in the ass.

When he finally arrives at the outskirts again, Keith almost cries in relief. He knows he doesn’t have any cover anymore, but at least he can fully focus on getting away.   

After a few years of running like this, one would think Keith is already getting the handle of it. On the contrary, with each escapade, he grows even anxious instead. Who likes spending their entire lifetime jumping from a place to another, hiding, _alone?_ Not Keith, that’s for sure.

So, in the middle of working his legs to run faster, faster, _faster_ , _I need to get away from them, I need to hide. They shouldn’t get me. I need to live, I_ have to _live—_ In the middle of trying to get away from those monsters that keep following him like a plague, in the middle of the hurried steps and guttural shouts and indignant curses that keep getting louder—Keith Kogane couldn’t help but to remember the things in the past before this disaster fell upon him, before he has to keep running to avoid the grasping darkness that chased his life like this. Mainly, he remembers about how brilliant his mother’s eyes were. That thought chases away any ill ideas about getting captured, tortured, _killed,_ so he dwells in it.

Keith had been born in a loving family. His mother was a great woman with eyes that saw goodness in everything. Those eyes were of something exquisite and sophisticated. They were the color of amethyst; pale, clear, and true. They stood out like vibrant flowers in the moon of her face, rich and enthralling. Whenever she was close enough, Keith could see the dark rim around the iris and a lot of vibrant violet around the pupil. They glowed like crystals under the sun sometimes, sparkling prettily.

When he was a kid, Keith remembered happiness tasted like cotton candy and adventures, like chocolate chips cookies and a good night dream. It was kind of rare to ever feel something quite like that in a world painted by magic where nothing would be impossible, including madness and literal chaos. Keith was grateful, of course, he was. But even if he was still young and naïve, he knew the first rule of everything: there is always a price to pay. So, those happy memories… at what cost?

He never really dwelled in that thought before, simply because he never had to. He had other things to focus on, like the picnic and how his father loved to play the guitar and serenade his love and son with silly yet beautiful songs. Like the morning lessons about his gift and uniqueness. About the new homes they always came to love whenever they move from a beautiful place to another wonderful place. Like _everything—_ the togetherness; his family and the love they give to him, his father’s warmth and how his mother’s eyes shone the brightest when she smiled…

But when her eyes were tainted with fear and anguish, Keith remembered the sight wasn’t as fascinating. In fact, it kind of killed him slowly, bit by bit, until his body and heart cracked into pieces. He never wanted to see that again.

That was why, when suddenly their home was drowned in flames and they were faced with monsters they had been hiding from, Keith wanted to do something to help the beautiful eyes’ owner—his _mother—_ defending their peaceful life. He wanted to help, he wanted to be able to fight alongside her so that he could protect the light of those eyes too.

He couldn’t, though, because his mother would do anything to keep him away from the monsters, _those Galra_. And that meant he had to _go away._ He had to _leave her._ And, oh, _god,_ those eyes were filled with tears.

_“My dear, love, go.”_

The next thing Keith remembered was the lightness of his feet as warm, familiar arms swoop him up and away. He remembered looking up too, after that, only to see pools of pitch black and regret staring back at him.

His father’s eyes were the exact opposite of his mother’s. They were midnight and ravens wings. They were the type of darkness that wasn't dark. They were sweet silence before dawn and responsibility. They were serendipity in a cold night.

But at that moment, when they ran away from the flames that kept getting bigger, Keith couldn’t find any of that comfort reflected in those eyes. Instead, in their places, were an abyss of intense feelings and couldn’t be anything else.

Of course, the Galra didn’t let them go that easily. It was never their style. They went after them, claws and fangs at the ready until his father was cornered enough so he had to grow wings and scales and took flight. It was then the druids turn to begin firing curses and hexes, wafting dark arts in the air and corrupting it. Fortunately, his father could dodge them all, vanishing into the night sky and falling into another city far, far away from where the Galra could reach that moment.

They were able to get away for a while. But after a year or two of them in hiding, Keith found himself looking at his father’s back as the man tried to keep the Galra away from him. It painfully reminded him of what his mother did before.

 _“Keith!”_ His father had yelled at him when he was frozen on his spot, unmoving. He almost couldn’t feel his body. But when Father shouted, “ _Run!”,_ the desperation in his tone kicked him running mindlessly with tears flowing down his cheeks as he blended in his surrounding and disappeared.

Which kind of feels like what happens right now. He even wants to start crying too. Especially when those memories begin clenching his chest. But, _no._ His mother told him to go, his father told him to run. He loved them both too much, he still does. So, the least he could do now after failing to keep them close to him is to do what they wanted him to. Crying won’t do him any good. He already shed too many tears and nothing changed.

Keith shakes his head and drowns himself in the feeling of the wind across his cheeks as he does what he could the best, _run._

This whole cat and mouse situation has started since that morning, two years after he left his father. Keith, in all honesty, should have seen this coming. It seems like the Galra only give their wanted people that long time to relax. But still, he was caught off guard a bit when he returned home from hunting and found out his shack alight in fire. Fortunately, there were only five soldiers and two druids waiting for him. Very much unlike a number of soldiers that came kicking their apartment door when he escaped with his father.

He could knock down three of them, with the help of a trap he especially built for an ambush like that, but still not without the dire consequences. Thus why he is now running head first into the brigade of woods and wilderness right now.

The forest he loses himself in is unfamiliar. Unfamiliar, as in, the all-around feeling he gets upon entering is different from most. Now, Keith had tried to seek refuge in woods like this countless times. But there is something in the air that touches the tips of his fingers, grazes his skin, caressing his face—that feels wickedly enchanting, but also downright dangerous _._ As if something is calling him in, but also telling him to go away. He doesn’t listen.

Keith remembers it’s still midday but the almost claustrophobic blackness gets him wondering whether the darkness has fallen beyond the woods as he moves even deeper. The sky vanishes almost completely, only a few fragments of blue remain like scattered pieces of an impossible jigsaw puzzle. He couldn’t even sense any sign of life; wood nymphs, satyrs, animals— _nothing._ It would be very unsettling if only he isn’t in a great haste.

The thickets and branches are all out for mischief, he could barely run a meter without some miscreant offshoot weaving itself around his legs and pulling him face-down into the loam. Branches of neighboring trees entwined and interlocked from every height and angle, conspired to harrow his every step, pulling at his jacket and trousers, scratching at every exposed part of his body, drawing drops of blood as if the previous wounds aren’t enough. Some of the bolder branches, in their devilry, delivered punishing and stinging thwacks. The only comfort he finds from all those is that the galras have to pass them as well.

Keith has nothing else to guide him beside his instinct and right now, he really needs to find a large enough space to shift. The sound of footsteps and spells being fired are getting louder with each second. He can't even waste any magic on shifting into something to help him get away faster if he wants to reserve it for the big fly. Hell, he is not even sure if he has enough magic to shift into his desired form. Dragon consumes tons of energy and magic for one shifting, but they’re the only creature Keith can use that could hold off against druidic hexes.

"Damn it," he curses as the mess of roots finally sends him stumbling down to the ground, making his body stings all over.

Only a second after collecting himself from the fall, he could feel a nasty magic cutting the air, coming right into his direction. It is only his extraordinary reflex that saves his head from being blasted into pieces by one of the druid’s curse. It hits the tree bark behind him instead, leaving a burnt mark over it before it starts to melt. Keith grimaces, imagining if it were his skull, but doesn’t waste any time to start getting up again. 

 _Damn it,_ he curses, inwardly this time, as a sudden realization pops into his head. Now that they don’t have to worry about pushing people aside, of course the Galra’s ability to run as if hell is on their heels can be used fully to chase after him. Staying human like this would get him caught sooner than later, according to how fast it is the sounds of those monsters keep getting bigger. He doesn’t even have his blade with him and even if he does bring it, it’s not like it could be much help. With his condition right now, his human body could barely swing an attack before slumping down to the ground pathetically. Not to mention Galra’s biology is far superior. If he gets one kick in the stomach, he would pass out in an instant. Talk about unfairness.

Want it or not, he has to use magic. Not too much, but enough to let him get far enough. And from how his magic goes autopilot when he is in a tricky situation like this, he could only remember one thing that maybe will help him reach the clearing without the grabby hands and claws of the purple monsters preventing him from moving forward.

He closes his eyes as he feels the smallest amount of his magic bends his bones and grows additional limbs. He could feel himself fall forward before his body is supported by four feet. He opens his eyes then, and with a breath, he dashes into the air like the wind.

If this were normal circumstance, he would never choose taking the form of normal animals. They are too vulnerable against magical creatures. Alas, he once again doesn't really have much say in the process. At least cheetah can run faster than humans and he still has some energy left for another transformation. Maybe not really into a dragon, maybe hippogriff or even grow some wings in his human form. Anything to take him flying because that’s how to escape Galra after roasting the druids alive or devouring them. Whichever seems more convenient.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t move with the speed he would’ve preferred. The previous injuries from the past forms are migrating into this new one and taking its toll. Now, he is within shooting range again of those galras who keep rapidly coming closer. The soldiers even bring out their guns again. So, besides moving his feet with the fastest he could, Keith has to jump in zig-zag to avoid another bullet grazing his fur or worse, planting itself in his body.   

It seems like fate is not on his side today because after he could see the clearing he is looking for, Keith is too eager that he doesn’t move fast enough when another bullet is fired. Thus, making the worse scenario happens; the goddamn thing plants itself in his leg.

 _‘Perfect. Just what I need. A_ bullet,’ Keith sneers.

The force of which the projectile comes in contact with his body even sends him stumbling to the clearing. Well, at least he arrives there in one piece. Ripped in the edges, but still one. He then whimpers like the pathetic creature he is before willing his power to corporate once again, all the while praying that the limb with the bullet isn’t the one that will change into wings.

Keith closes his eyes and lets out a breath. He wills himself to relax, but this time, it's different from simply changing forms with the one that looks alike his original from or into a lesser creature. This time, the surge of magic restructuring his insides and reshaping his body is too much that it sends white-hot pain tainting all over his mind. He almost blacks out from the sensation, but he grasps himself in time to spit fire to the incoming Galra, also lighting the woods in the process.

When Keith tries to get back the sense of feeling in his system, he once again almost cried in relief knowing his wings, which are adorned by a burnished gold color membrane, aren’t broken and that he is able to fully transform. He also still has some energy left for a short flight to another continent. But the relief doesn’t last long when he feels one of his two legs gives up on him. The wound there burns like scalding lava and poisonous shit mixing together.

 _Fuck._ Whatever nasty things those Galra put into their bullets, it’s making him want to rip his own skin open and dig the pain out.

The next thing he knows, the Galras are coming for his head, fearless even in the face of a creature like Wyvern. But, Keith supposes, if you’re monsters like them, even a wounded alpha is still nothing but an easier prey.

Keith dodges their attacks with difficulty and right when he is about to take flight, gigantic vines and roots, with the fury of starved serpents, burst from the soil right underneath him. They quiver a moment over his head, then as if instinct with demoniac intelligence, they fasten upon him in sudden coils round and round his neck and limbs. The tendrils—one after another, like great green serpents with brutal energy and infernal rapidity—rises, retracts themselves and wraps him about in fold after fold, ever tightening with cruel swiftness and savage tenacity of anacondas fastening upon their prey.

Keith reacts with roaring flames and sharp spines, burning and cutting the evil plants until they wither and turn into ashes. He couldn’t stop them, though, no. They won’t stop until the goddamn druid is pleased to see him caged or dead. When the tendrils reach one of his wings and crush it, the searing pain and his hopeless situation make Keith thinks that maybe it is better if he dies after all.

But, _no, no, no. I can’t die. I don’t want to. I have to survive. I have to escape. I will keep getting stronger, then I will avenge Mother and Father—I can’t die like this._

So, he keeps breathing fire, even snapping his jaw when one of the soldiers come close enough for him to bite. His efforts at least don’t end fruitless. He managed to tear apart an arm and leg of a galra while making sure the vines wouldn't dare to reach his undamaged wing. He doesn't know what he would do with only one operating flying appendage, but he would be damned if he let them shred the other as well. Not that he isn’t damned already. It just Keith is that stubborn. He keeps exerting his magic until the inside of his lungs sparks with the searing pain that makes his previous injuries feel insignificant.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t keep going like that forever. Keith gasps for breath, a snarl leaving his mouth soon after he realizes the fire in his belly has stopped burning. The druid seems to notice his weakening state as well because the druidic magic with a touch of dark arts begins to intensify.

Maybe this is his end, after all.

Just when he is about to let the green tendrils swallow him whole, a flare of enchanting magic, a burn of frisson along his reddish-brown scales and inside of him that makes him shiver, suddenly fills the air. He never feels something quite like that before. It is a touch of something so powerful, almost divine, and sweet in ways that send intoxicating feeling engulfing Keith’s senses.

Keith doesn’t know what it is, but something in him yearns for more. He turns around and the sight of a human male; a mage, dressed in a dark cloak and an easy smirk upon his face, greets him. The guy has the appearance of a lean teenager, can’t be older than Keith himself, with light brown skin and short hair. He looks mostly harmless but the magic oozing out of him says the otherwise and Keith finds himself being drowned by it.

But the sound of silvery voice snaps Keith back to reality and to the galra coming for his head.

“Woah, would you look at that! What a wild party and I’m not even invited in!”

The millisecond distraction is enough for Keith to breathe hellfire to everything else around him, even the new guy. Except, the galras jump in time to avoid it, but the mage whips his hands and alter the fire coming for him to an unsuspecting soldier, bathing him in flames until only ashes left.

“Easy there, Sir Majestic Beast,” he says, his colorful eyes dancing and complementing the smirk that blooms on his face. "I'm on your side. You’ll be okay.”

Completely involuntary, as if there are unknown forces intervening, Keith believes him. Maybe it is the strange touch of his magic or the way the light in his eyes abruptly morphs. His irises are a mesh of blues and purples, like nebulae floating through space, complete with bright stars scattered around his pupils. When Keith feels the same sensation of magnifying magic in the air, a burst of indiscernible color begins dancing in them like graceful ballerinas.

Keith has never seen something as beautiful as that.

What happens next is mostly a blur. The only things Keith could distinctly recognize are a lot of fire. He doesn’t know if it’s from him or the mage. There is also wind, a hurricane, and then stalagmites coming from the earth, cutting the huge tendrils and letting him slump to the ground in a gigantic mess of wyvern body and blood. The druid tries to call an earthquake in their last attempt at winning the fight. It is rendered useless, however, when ice spears are suddenly embedded into their back.

When there is no more Galra to destroy, the clearing is left looking like disaster and filled with aggressive magic that begins to dissipate into thin air. There is also Keith, still in his wyvern form, trying to work his wings to get him the fuck out of this continent and into temporary safety. No matter how hard he tries, though, he always ends up falling to the ground ungracefully.

And, of course, the human mage is still there too, not at all looking disheveled even after all those fighting and currently watching Keith struggle with amusement clearly painted on his face. Keith ignores him with all he could until finally, his magic decides to give up on him. He shifts back into his ‘proper’ form, human and without any jacket. Or any clothes. At all.

There is a whistle from somewhere on his right. Precisely from where the stranger stands, nodding to himself appreciatively.

“Well, hello there, gorgeous.” His face clearly says he enjoy the view.  

Keith is too tired and bleeding and wounded all over to care. He could barely move a muscle without winching. The stranger seems to notice that as well. His flirty expressions are gone in an instant and the next thing Keith new, there is only an inch or so between their faces. It’s the pure concern reflected in his eyes that stop Keith from shoving his fist to the pretty face. Maybe also because his arms wouldn’t budge. Maybe both.

“I’ve never known wyverns can turn human. Not that it's not cool because it _is_ cool. Not cooler than me, of course, but _still._ So, uh—just, let me help you.” He hears the mage mumble, sun-kissed arms moving around his shoulder as if trying to support him, but not actually touching his skin. “I’m Lance, by the way.”

Keith grunts in response. He wills whatever left in his magical core to reshape his bones into extra appendages that enable him to fly. He fails. He tries again and fails.

He would be moaning in frustration if only he isn’t already so miserable.

“I don’t need your help.” The guy, _Lance_ or whatever, has done enough helping. Keith doesn’t want to burden him more. He could take care of himself, now that the galras aren’t in the way. Or well, that’s what he tell himself.

“I don’t _want_ your help,” he says again, more to ground himself than anything. “Not anymore. Thank you, but no.”

Lance has the decency to roll his eyes. The mix of colors has finally settled into crystal blue and Keith is torn between getting miffed or admiring the ever-changing hues that make him feel like looking into water reflecting sun rays.

“A feisty fellow, aren’t you?” He nods, affirming his own question when Keith only glares at him, looking oddly pleased. “You may don’t want my help, but you do need it.”

Keith clicks his tongue. Okay, he has no magic left to grow wings and his body is now painted with blood. Okay, he is hurting all over and maybe seconds away from dying, but it’s not like he is completely useless.

Well, _fine._ Keith might be a bit too stubborn, but whatever.

To prove his point, Keith wills all of the said stubbornness to move his uninjured leg. It does move, thankfully, before he promptly falls into the hot stranger arms, all in his naked glory and gore.

To make himself even more pathetic, he stays conscious for three seconds. Long enough to feel the pleasant sensation of the mage’s magic crawling his skin, but not long enough to hear Lance chuckles and says, “Don’t worry, _gorgeous._ You'll be okay.“


	2. Meanwhile, Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith needs to stop falling, really. Especially when it's Lance in front of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Authlene: If I have to rewrite this chapter one more time, I swear I am going to set my laptop on fire. *throws this update at you before running away screaming*  
> Also, I blame ~~Mel for introducing me to~~ Tododeku for distracting me.
> 
> \- dementedK: Oh, come on. You love me for introducing Tododeku! Hahah
> 
> \- Authlene: Lmao right who am I kidding. Oh, and please love [this fanart](http://whitedarkangel.tumblr.com/post/162510691070/i-love-him-so-much-its-unhealthy-and-i-love) Mel made too. Damn, Keith is a total cutie rip.
> 
>  
> 
> _Onto the chapter!_

In his mind eye, everything is bathed in black. Consuming, suffocating, disorienting. It’s as if his eye sockets are empty. As if the things inside have been gauged out by clawed fingers and stomped on with dizzying fervor. Except it’s never about that. It is more like the world is etched in charcoal, painted in jet shades. The once vibrant hues of emotions, senses, and awareness are no more and Keith is floating in that place, blanketed by nothingness and the things in between.

Sometimes, though, he could catch muffled sounds, voices. Like a faraway touch of things he should have felt and understand. There are sensations too—hot, pain, numb, _pain—_ but they are all ripples on the surface of the ocean and he is drowning deep under. It doesn’t matter, though. Nothing does. When his consciousness isn’t blindfolded anymore, none of them will still be there. He won’t recall a thing and he will be confused. And maybe that’s for the best. The searing lava of his skin being torn open is better never to be remembered even if its phantom will forever be with him.

Keith doesn’t know how long he is dwelling in there, in the space conjured by none other than his soul and will and unconsciousness. Time flies like a ghostly touch of fleeting fingers and it’s not like he makes a count to start with. All that Keith knows is that he has fallen too deep and the darkness begins to flicker like a broken movie being forced to play. Except, it gets clearer and somehow, he doesn’t know how, Keith is sitting on an old swing he recognizes a little bit too dearly. When he looks up, the sky above is coated in a calming blue paint with clouds drifting by, showing the perfect image of a warm summer day.

There are children around him, playing happily. The sound of their laughter filling the air like a harmonious song of cicadas. Suddenly, the sky seems closer and his tiny feet are hanging freely in the air. His hands around the metal bars tightened before his mouth fall open in a boisterous laugh, unadulterated happiness singing in his veins. Or so he thinks he feels.

Keith doesn’t turn around but somehow he knows there is another presence there, pushing him gently and with care. And if he looks closely, there, sitting in the shades of the willow tree, is the woman that gives him the world. The violet of her eyes glittering with unveiled joy while the corner of her pretty eyes crinkling as he waves enthusiastically to her.

 _“Father! Father! Higher!”_ he says and wonders, if he extends his arms to the sky high enough, could he touch the clouds and live in this moment forever?

He is young and happy and innocent, but even he knows a dream is a dream.

Keith swings back and forth a few times until a permanent smile is attached to his face. When it finally stops and he hops to the ground with giddiness, there is a man kneeling in front of him who opens his arms in an invitation for a hug. The woman from before is there too, smiling at him with her big heart. Of course he jumps and throws himself into their warm embrace, willing for just a little bit more to feel the love only his family could give him.

He feels uncontrollably happy, illogically so, almost. But he is never not aware of the nightmare hiding somewhere around the crook of his mind, under the tile of illusion. It’s waiting calmly for the right time, ready to crawl in and shatter everything into crooked pieces just like how it usually does. To taint his happiness just like how this first layer of the dream always ends.

The nightmare is always the same. Paralyzed, naked, cold. A storm wrecking his senses, leaving him choking for air. Little by little, the spectrum of color around him begins to fade. It changes into something darker but never dark enough. It’s like sky refuses to let the sun shines. Instead, the moon is there in its stead, glowing eerie red and madness and cold.

In a blink, Keith feels himself grasping air. The silhouettes of his father and mother dissipate into gray smoke, taking away the last bit of warmth with them. He must’ve screamed something, probably asking them to come back, because his throat is tearing apart. It hurts so much as if he is forced to swallow chainsaws. But even if he does that until his mouth is dripping blood, Keith is aware his nightmares are never merciful. They never fail to kill him from the inside then leave him trembling nonstop for days.

So, when his mother is back in front of him, he knows the worst is yet to come.

 _“Oh, my dear,”_ she says, her lips quivering and her eyes wet with tears. When she lifts her hand to touch him, it shakes so badly as if her body doesn’t want to obey her anymore. But suddenly, there are chains crawling her skin, keeping her in place. No matter how hard she tries to hold him, to touch him, there is always a breath separating them apart. “ _Keith.”_

Keith wants to reach out to her, cradling the small wrist and telling her they will be okay. They will be fine. The Galra won’t take her away, they will be together again. Happy and spending another summer with smiles. But he is rooted in place. He can’t move, not even for breathing faster. He is doomed to see but cannot help at all. And he is aware too, there is a pool of blood beside her and his father unmoving body drowning in it.

He wants to scream.

 _“Keith.”_ The corpse seems to be talking. _“Didn’t I tell you to run?”_

_I can’t. I can’t leave you. I don’t want to leave you. Please, I want to save you. I will save y—_

The corpse is moving now, showing Keith the battered flesh that is once his father. Meanwhile, the chains around his mother tighten. It leaves her wheezing for air.

_“Don’t you love us too? We sacrificed ourselves for you, why can’t you just run?”_

_“Keith, go.”_ It’s his mother, the waterfall of saltwater across his cheeks is replaced by inky liquid that melts her skin.

_“Run.”_

_“Don’t look back. Forget.”_

_“Keith—“_

Then the air suffocates him with dark magic and when he knows it, he is caught again in the hold of crooked tendrils that try to tear his body apart. There are galras around him, ready with their guns and torture.

Keith screams and screams until the sky falls and the image shatters. The nightmare ends in sharp pieces that leave Keith writhing in pain and agony, his body alight with a blazing fire under his skin. His head is in jumbles too. It doesn’t seem to be able to rot in one state. Instead, it keeps switching back and forth between conscious and losing it.

That is before the distinctly familiar yet unknown magic begins to fill the space the nightmare had corrupted with a golden glow, purifying it of any traces that the foul dream is ever there in the first place. It weaves around, warm and kind. It engulfs his senses wholly and leaving specks of reassurance. Of healing and protection.

Keith stops twisting but his throat still feels as if razors are residing there. 

_‘Calm down. You are safe. You are okay.’_

The magic shimmers and stretches, growing and receding, striving and shrinking. One moment it’s yellow and bright, like the sun burning, but the next thing Keith knows, there are red hues and green. The colors dance around each other in graceful motions, like aurora borealis filling the vast canvas of northern hemisphere sky with glittering lights.

_‘Rest now. You are going to be fine. I will be with you.’_

_‘I will take care of you.’_

The last thing Keith feels is a burst of pink before the darkness embraces him again. This time, it’s warm and harmless, leaving him asleep in a dreamless realm.

* * *

Somehow, the world comes back to greet him, death’s kiss away and forgotten. When the last bit of fatigue starts bleeding away from his system, Keith wakes up to heavy eyelids and the sensation of finally emerging from deep waters after ages of floating in darkness.

He couldn’t feel his body for some time, his mind a blank sheet. So, he opts to just lay there with closed eyes after only opening them for a solid second, not really knowing how to function and not really having the energy to face the world just yet. He can’t go back to sleep again, though. Not like he wants to. That’s why he waits patiently until pieces of his mind puzzle come back one by one. He just prays they will arrive with a clue as to what exactly the puzzle is like.

Keith doesn’t know how long it is until they finally come, but they do. First is the explanation of who he is. His name, birthday, other mundane things like that. It is then followed by his life events—past, present; the ones meant to be remembered, anyway. Especially about what happened last before he lost consciousness.

He recalls fire, druids spitting spells with vengeance. Galras’ claws, busted wing, bullets. There were also monstrous vines, squeezing the life out of him. Then, _a smirk—_

_“You’ll be okay.”_

_—_ flames, hurricane, stalagmites, ice.

Keith’s eyes jerk open, his vision swims and his head hurts from the abruptness of it all. He also succeeds in making his heart jumps to his throat before he promptly swallows it down to where it belongs. He then frantically wills his eyes to focus on something, anything other than the blurry image his vision presented.

It takes him a little bit too long for his liking to finally succeed but when he does, the sight that greets him is unfamiliar and disorientating. A white ceiling, high and wide, is right above his head and, according to his guess, a comfy bed is under him.

He is still not able to move his body properly but at least when he wills his head to turn around, it follows his command. Now, he is face to face with an open window, its curtains fluttering in the wind like a dance. The moon hanging low in the sky is full and silver, nearly blinding. Its beam is the only source of light in the otherwise dark room. There aren’t any stars scattered around there in the midnight to be seen, though. Only looming shadow of trees and nothing else.

It takes Keith a full ten seconds to finally realize, even if the breeze kisses his skin with frozen lips, he doesn’t feel cold at all. He dumps the blame on his senses malfunctioning at first, but then he recognizes the feeling of heat cocooning him, especially from his right side. Not from the duvet covering him from neck to toe, but something else.

A certain weight he doesn’t pay attention to before also registered in his brain from somewhere around his middle. It isn’t uncomfortable nor intrusive at all, judging by the way he is all but missed the sensation if he doesn’t purposefully seek anything uncommon of his body. But he is curious, so he angles his head to the right and nearly comes nose-to-nose with a certain someone.

If only he is in a more primer state, he would’ve swiftly swing his leg for a kick before following it with a knife to the throat for good measure. But Keith is nowhere good enough to sit up, unfortunately, let alone showcasing those savage moves. The better parts of his body still feel like jelly more than flesh and muscles they should have been. That’s why he opts to go perfectly still, eyes comically wide, and breath completely stalled. His brain goes straight into haywire trying to come up with a plausible reason as to how on earth he could end up in bed with a stranger so close to his body. With an arm draped snuggly on him, no less.

The answers he comes up with are minimal and, of course, are _not_ exactly answers at all. More like, speculations because his mind draws a blank after he passed out from overexerting his magic like the fool he is. Whatever happens after that that brings him to this point is a pristine white empty report in his memory. Thus he knows not of the exact reason he is the way he is right now, not bleeding out cold in the middle of the clearing with the remnants of the galras that came after his head before.

He couldn’t be in a hospital and he is numb enough to know his injuries are no more, so is that stranger the one who got him out of the forest and cured him?

To keep his skull intact because suddenly he gets this urge to slam his head to the nearest hard surface, Keith tries to think more about _who_ instead of the _whys_ and more especially, the _hows._ It’s not really that much better, to be frank, since it’s not like he is conscious long enough to be sociable to the other. But at least this… bed-mate, he does know him.

 _Lance,_ Keith’s mind supplies, suddenly helpful. His body relaxes the next moment, suddenly compliant.

As if on cue, the image of a human mage with the supernova of a myriad of colors trapped in his eyes appears in his mind. Keith remembers the mage also had an infuriatingly confident mouth shape when he grinned or maybe it was just his wounds talking, delirious of pain and all. But right now, with his eyes closed and serene expression painted on his face, Keith finds himself not able to look away from him.

Okay, maybe he seriously needs to bang his head on a wall after all.

Lance has long eyelashes, Keith notices with an inward cringe because he all of a sudden gets the urge to starts counting them. He has small lips too that are now parting a bit in an exhale. His nose is pointed and even though his eyelids are closed, therefore sealing the mesmerizing view of the irises Keith longs to see again, he still looks like the embodiment of unfairness. Pretty much like the first time Keith sees him, even though in a slightly different aspect.

Before, he is unfair for being godlike powerful—of course Keith knows no one, no _creature,_ ever, could perfectly handle two elements in their magic at once, let alone _four._ Can’t he be more unfair? Apparently, yes. This time, he is unfair for managing to look so goddamn beautiful despite the lack of light filling the room.

Has Keith seen anyone as beautiful as him before? No. He rivals even elves and his mother is prettier but that’s beside the point.

_Is he actually divine?_

That will explain a lot, Keith muses, even if it’s mostly impossible since divine beings are either myth, only live in legends, or long since perished from existence.

But, despite everything, the one thing that piques Keith’s interest and curiosity the most is a seemingly shimmering blue stone embedded in the middle of Lance’s forehead, just a little bit above the bridge of his eyebrows, that looks akin to a gemstone. A sapphire, perhaps. A diamond-shaped sapphire.

Keith looks at it closely, almost without blinking. He couldn’t remember seeing it in the clearing before. Probably because he is too focused on the other’s eyes. It is only the size of a small pebble, though, so it could also be because it’s hidden by the shadow of Lance’s hood that he didn’t notice it.

Is it an accessory? A mark of some kind? Whatever it is, Keith has never seen a human, or any other creature, really, wearing something like that. Human is an ever evolving being, though. So maybe that’s one of their newest inventions.

Though, the more he looks at it, the more he realizes it’s no ordinary jewelry at all. He couldn’t say for sure why, unfortunately. It’s like his senses could tell there is something different in the air, but his brain nor his magic could decipher what exactly caused it.

_Why do I even care anyway?_

It’s not like he will be seeing more of Lance after this. From past experiences, Keith knows he can’t stop in one place too long. He has to run, _again,_ and more smartly. The lesser anyone tied with him, the better. Therefore it means no letting Lance intervening more than he already did.

Geez, stupid human and their tendencies to be deaf when they’re told to mind their own business.

If the Galra is hell-bent on getting his family firmly in their grasp, for whatever reason there is, then it’s between them only—him, the Galra, his father, mother and no one more. He won’t let anyone else gets dragged into the mess. Not when he knows an encounter like recently—the cat and mouse, chase and kill _game—_ will likely happen again in the near future, probably with more gore and absolutely with more wrath since they failed to capture him the first time. And, _next time,_ Keith would be damned if he doesn’t make sure he is prepared to deal with whatever surprise the Galra feels like throwing at him.

For that, Keith needs a new tactic and he needs it fast. Whatever it will be, though, Keith is certain the first action would be to get out of wherever the place he is in right now.  

With that in mind, Keith closes his eyes to will away whatever it is that entrances him into seeing the gemstone unblinking. He then tries to move. No matter what Lance did to him, it saves him from death’s all too sweet embrace and even if that means he owes the mage his life and two more of it, he can’t wait until the dawn comes. He doesn’t have time to waste and he gets this feeling that seeing Lance awake, feeling the touch of his magic again, will only make everything harder. Not only for him, but both of them. Or in all honesty, it’s more for Lance’s sake than his own.

_No ties. I can’t weight him down any more than I already did._

Maybe his disappearance will be a thank you enough…

_He saved you from the Galra. And took care of you._

…Or maybe not. But it’s not like Keith has a lot of options to start with.

As softly as he could, he removes Lance’s arm from his body and just as softly, he positions himself in the edge of the bed, letting his body slowly remember how to perform its function once again. Meanwhile, he immerses himself in the image of the room he is in.

Since there aren’t any lights on and the moonlight could only cover so much, several corners are left in the shadows. It takes some time for Keith’s vision to adjust but when it does, he is pleasantly surprised to know it is quite a large room, albeit a bit empty. Only simple furniture is present, the surrounding walls bare of any photographs or other decorations a frequently used room tend to have.

Perhaps it’s a guest room?

_Right. Why would he bring a half-dead stranger to his own room?_

Before his brain could bake more insignificant questions—like why the heck is Lance sleeping beside him, then? Did he pass out or something? Or is he just that weird? Is this place even Lance’s? O _ops, too late_ —Keith tries his damnest to stir his attention back to the pressing matter at hand. Like, finding the door and fly away to the highest sky. Maybe if he is determined enough, he could prove Cloud Nine exists and whoever lives there will let him stay for the rest of his life.  

Turns out, the exit he needs is hiding behind a drawn tight curtain that falls from a little bit from the ceiling to the floor. It is not locked, thankfully, and the hallway outside is bare of any living being activities. Lance’s place, then. Keith tries to move as soundless as possible, but when he accidentally slams the double doors shut, he discovers Lance sleeps like a log.

Keith doesn’t know what to do when he suddenly thinks that is both relieving and concerning, so he shakes his head to get rid of the thought before venturing into the hallway and go straight to the front door without as much looking at the things around him or paying even the slightest attention to the bandages all over his body and the stinging aches on his leg every time he put another foot in front of the other.

The first thing that welcomes him outside is the moonbeam lighting up the starless sky and the second thing is the biting night breeze. Keith almost regrets leaving Lance’s warm embrace when he feels the cold seeps into his bones. _Almost_. Good thing he has enough stubbornness to fuel his energy and with that, he starts his long trek to the nearest city, limping all the way. His body is suddenly not so numb anymore.

A quick check of his core informs him his magic is not ready to be used anytime soon and a quick survey of his surrounding tells him that Lance might be as much a hermit as he is, judging from the way he chose to live in the middle of a forest, of all places. But then he remembers the way Lance oh so easily called him—a total stranger— _gorgeous,_ of all things.

 _Never mind, then,_ he groaned, not flustered, at all. Especially when he realizes that was actually the first time someone called him like that. Nope. No.

Leaving the thought of Lance and how suddenly something in his head yells for him to turn back, Keith slowly enters the barricade of woods. All at once, the light is robbed away from him, the silvery rays of the full moon couldn’t penetrate the dense canopy above his head as much as it had been when the sun shone brilliantly in the daylight. It’s only his years of hiding from Galra’s clutch in the darkness that aids his eyes into adjusting to his surroundings. Or else, he would trip over mischief root on the second step he takes.  

Drenched in night’s shades, the woods is as still as Keith remembers when he escaped the neutral city. Everything is so silent it’s deafening. Not even the rustles of leaves or the sound of his steps are heard as if the shadows feed on the noise and the wind refuses to waltz in between the trees, leaving only cold and haunted feelings.

There are also still no sign of other living beings’ activities or presence as far as Keith enhanced sense could reach. Not even the blinking eyes of nocturnal creatures that normally rule over the wild at a time like this. If turns out everything is just his hallucinations from the start, Keith wouldn’t be taken aback if he is actually wondering over in between planted tombs and scattered bones in a long forgotten graveyard.

No such luck, though. Everything is as real as it could be and as uncanny as he surmises.

Of course his instinct starts flashing warning signs at him that obviously means something is definitely not right in here. But, _of course_ , being the charge-first-think-later person that he is, Keith discards the unwanted attention aside in order to focus more on hobbling away from the claw-like branches that time to time looks more like they are reaching for his limbs, not unlike the nightmarish vines the damned druid had summoned previously.

The reminder of atrocious plants makes Keith instinctively shudders and prompts him to move faster, faster, faster— _I need to get out of this forest, rent a room somewhere in the city until the stupid magical exhaustion pass, lets my body totally recover back to its healthy state, then I will make sure no more Galra’s surprise will send me straight to death’s door…_

 _But first, I_ have to _get the hell out of this forest…_

… And well, get out of the forest he is.

Except, when he expects—wishes, hopes, _prays—_ the border of the neutral city to welcome him, Keith’s heart almost stops at the sight of a cottage in the middle of a grassy clearing where he is certain he had been walking out of half an hour ago.

With a strength fueled by fear, he runs back into the woods, completely disregarding how the soft material covering his torn skin under the clothes that are obviously not his begins to get soaked with blood in certain areas.   

Keith runs and runs because despite not feeling his body anymore, it seems to be the only thing he is capable of doing. He runs until he meets the innocent looking cottage, again and again, no matter which way he chooses to use in order to break whatever illusion he is in.

It is the fourth time he meets the exact same place that Keith feels the dreaded yet ambrosial magic caressing his skin once again. Keith doesn’t turn around. He doesn’t have to when his insides already melt without seeing Lance in the eyes directly.

But of course the mage just has to speak for Keith to lost control over his mind as well.

“Oh my, leaving already?” He hears from somewhere behind him, tone light and teasing. The moment his head swerves without his order, Keith knows he is royally screwed. “Not even waiting until I wake up? I thought _we_ had a _good_ night!”

Lance’s irises are maelstrom of dark navy color this time. Not unlike the now prominent sapphire on his forehead that reflects the silvery moonlight in the most beautiful way possible. Also, if one looks closely, there are stars in those eyes, scattering about in constellations. Finally, Keith gets the answer as to where the twinkling dots in the night sky has gone to.

When Lance lets out a crooked smile, the stars glow.

“Well, technically it‘s five nights, but semantics.”

Keith doesn’t have the slightest idea of what to reply and it’s not like he is confident he can speak without spluttering. So, weighing his non-existent options, he decides his best course of action is to keep quiet and not gaping at all.

The mage seems to disagree, though. Without preamble, he drops the playful façade and starts regarding Keith with furrowed eyebrows. It takes all of what left of Keith’s self-control to not visibly shiver when Lance’s magic fondles his cheek as if a warm palm.

“You shouldn’t be awake yet,” the mage says, displeased. As an afterthought, he adds. Exasperatedly. “Seriously, _gorgeous_ , you’re bleeding. Again.”

Keith has long since decided that his not-as-healed-as-he-thought injuries are insignificant as long as he makes it to the city, so he decides to focus more on the most distressing part of the sentences.

“And you should stop calling me that,” he says with visible effort at sounding clear.

Lance waves him off dismissively. “Fine, _pretty boy. Hot stuff. Sir Majestic Beast_ —” At Keith incredulous look, he raises an eyebrow, challenging. “What? It’s not like you give me a name to start with, Mullet.”

What Keith’s meant to scream at first is; _Pretty? Hot?! Look who’s talking!_

But of course he doesn’t even have a quarter of Lance’s confidence so he hides his embarrassment by growling, “Keith. Call me that. And _mullet?_ Really?”

That’s definitely a smug look blooming on the mage’s face and no, that’s definitely not something akin to a pleased hum the magic around him lets out. “Now, it’s not that hard, right?” the mage points out. “And I didn’t notice it at first because you were bathed in blood, but you have a mullet, aren’t you?”

Keith groans and about to do that some more when he accidentally catches how something in Lance’s begin to shift. It’s not an apparent thing. Instead, it feels like Lance tries to hide it so hard that Keith himself is surprised he could notice at all. It starts with how the stars in Lance’s eyes begin to dim and his eye bags start to darken. The smirk is slowly fading, replaced by tired lines, although not completely.

When he talks again, it’s slow and soft and Keith feels like he needs to punch himself at least twice. Guilt sure is a bitch to deal with. “Then, _Keith_ , come back with me. You’re not completely healed yet.”

The way Lance said his name is enough to make Keith leaps straight into the cottage, to be frank. But Keith is bleeding— _a little,_ really—not blind nor is he dense. Naturally, he knows it is him who caused Lance to look like he might topple down anytime soon from where he is standing covered with a white cloth around his shoulder to shield him from the cold. The mage probably stayed awake all night—even night _s_ —treating Keith’s battered body until he passed out. So, instead of convincing him to go back into the cottage, Keith is more than sure now he had made the right call to stop burdening him more than he already did.

With a heavy sigh, Keith begins carefully. “I’ve told you before that you’ve had helped me enough and I will tell you that again until you finally listen to me.” When he speaks again, he couldn’t stare at Lance in the eyes so he looks down at his suddenly interesting bare feet. “I’m deeply thankful you helped me with the fight and were you to leave me dying alone there, I won’t hold it against you.” If anything, the blame is all the Galras’. His father and mother would attest to that. “But you brought me with you, healed me, and those are _so much_ already. Besides, I can move again.” Limping, he corrects inwardly, but at this point, it’s enough movement for him, “I can _truly_ take care of myself this time. Promise.”

Now that 98% of his injuries are already treated and he had rested—for a few days, no less—to keep himself from passing out again, Keith is sure he will survive a bit of reopened wounds until he finds a new place to settle.

Lance is silent for some time. The gaze he gifts Keith clearly shows he begs to differ. “Look, I don’t know why the Galra wants you—Wait. Actually, I have a hunch because I’m certain I never met a _were_ quite like you before. Still, even if you’re a Wyvern—or heck, a Dragon—with your condition like this, you can’t handle even three of them, let alone a battalion I’m sure they’ve sent as soon as they realize their previous hunting party had been defeated.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Keith stares at Lance with menacing intensity, daring the mage to make fun of what he is going to say next. “I’m not a Wyvern. I’m a _shifter_.”

It is a complete second after his proclamation that Keith realizes he just vomited his biggest secret to Lance, a complete, powerful stranger… that he illogically, undeniably _trusts_?

_Huh?!_

_What the hell._

Keith wants to kick something. Preferably himself.

Is it because the mage hasn’t sold him out yet? Shifters, rare as they are, will make lots of money in certain market. Or is it because he didn’t let him die? Instead, healing him and everything else?

_Or is it because of how his magic reacts to him?_

While Keith berates himself inwardly, Lance is standing as still as a statue, eyes wide and unbelieving. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Mullet,” he says after a pause too long. Keith is about to give the other a piece of his mind and a yell, probably, but Lance stalks forward and a split second later, all Keith could see is twin sea of stars that steal the air out of his lungs. It takes everything in Keith to not visibly shiver when Lance’s hot breathe ghosts over his face, a stark contrast of the chilly night breeze. “Don’t lie to me. There hasn’t been any true shifter since, I don’t know, forever?”

Keith scrambles to take a step backward. Then one more step for good measure. He crosses his hands over his chest, eyes seeing anything that does not belong to Lance’s face. Or just Lance in particular. “Right, this is all a joke. So funny. Haha, I’m laughing,” he says, humourlessly, before his tone gets drier. “You know, that’s rich coming from a mage who uses not one but four goddamn elements like it is no more than a child’s play. Has anyone like you ever existed before?”

Even the greatest elemental magic user in history couldn’t manage something like that.

Keith feels more than see Lance’s unimpressed stare before the mage finally gives him back his personal space with a grimace in response to his last remark. “I’m a _special_ case so that doesn’t count.” It’s Lance’s turn to avoid Keith’s eyes, his magic suddenly vigilant and stiff.

 _Special, hm?_ No one needs to be a genius to notice there are more to that word than Lance is willing to share with him. That’s okay, though. It’s not like he cares.

_Right?_

“Also, my point still stands. In your condition right now, you’ll likely end up dying again or in their prison. Whichever seems more convenient for those foul race.”

This time, it’s Keith who puts a foot forward and faces Lance head-on. “No,” he starts, eyes glaring straight into blue orbs when he catches Lance’s sight, “I have overstayed my welcome. I can’t keep troubling you even for another day and you, _the special case,_ should have known why.”

Lance and Keith aren’t ‘ _hermits’_ by choice, they are _hiding._

When Keith continues, his words morph into more like a snarl than anything else. His magic begins thrumming in his veins, churning the inside of him, and makes his body feel as if composed of molten metal as it twists about and grows, as the fangs descend and claws sprout out.

“Just tell me how to get pass whatever you put in this forest, Lance, then I will be out of your hair! _Why do you even care so much anyway!?_ ”

As soon as he finished talking, Keith has less than a millisecond to avoid a fist full of fire, aiming straight for his face. He falls backward and rolls aside, narrowly missing explosive bursts of flame Lance sends at him.

When strikes of the aggressive element momentarily stop, Keith finds his footing a fair distance away from the mage that holds galaxies in his eyes. The nebulae are back too, but it’s dominated by angry crimson lights or maybe that is just a reflection of the burning grass around them. Either way, Lance’s once intoxicating magic makes Keith’s skin itches this time and writhing under it, his half-transformation dwindles as well.

Keith uses his scaly clawed fingers to crush levitating stones coming for various parts of his body. In the middle of it, he has meant to yell, _What the actual fuck do you think you are doing!?,_ but ice replaces the earth underneath him. The only sound he lets out is a loud groan when his legs give up on him and his ankle bends in the way it has absolutely no business to be bending in.   

He can’t stand, much less jumping in zig-zag before he is close enough to deliver a punch or two to the mage. So, he wills his shoulders to sprout limbs. His magic defies him at first, clearly still affected by Lance’s. But seeing a giant fireball flying right to his direction, Keith’s desperate wish to keep living takes over. The wings come forth, white and ruining the shirt he wears. They’re not as enormous as Wyvern’s, only as long as his arms spread wide. It’s more than enough, though, until he is struck by the memory of a hurricane.

In a blink, Keith finds himself trapped inside a compressed ball of air, wings flapping uselessly before it reverts back into shoulder blades and his claws reshapes back into blunt nails. He gets to keep his fangs though, so he bares them indignantly as Lances moves closer to him, his face an expressionless mask even though his eyes speak more than anyone could ever comprehend.

“You will be dead within ten minutes as soon as the Galra find you,” the mage states like a law.

Keith sneers from his place suspended in the air. “ _If_ they find me.”

“Which they will, in less than an hour.” Lance only regards him impassively. “You see, the only reason as to why there aren’t any of those dark druids casting hexes for you nor any bullet fired at you right at this moment is because you are in a pocket dimension with enough shield and trap that will prevent unwanted parties from bursting in,” at this, he puts a hand on his waist and narrows his eyes, accusing, “and stop unhealthy shifters from escaping and running straight to their grave.”

That explains so much, Keith muses. But, ” _Pocket dimension?_ Really?” And here Keith thought being a badass elemental user is more than enough!

Lance seems to have caught his train of thought because he grimaces. “Unfortunately, I suck at spatial magic, so that’s a friend of mine’s _gift.”_ He rolls his eyes at the end of the sentence before going back to heeding Keith calmly. “Besides, I have wards all around the forest. They will alert me of threats and that exactly how I found you in the first place.” Keith recalls the unfamiliar feeling he got when he entered the forest and now it makes sense. “You’ll soon find out you are the safest here than anywhere else at the moment. Especially since I _know_ you don’t even have any plans yet.”

Keith gapes at him. “What? You will let me stay here until… they stop aggressively searching me or something?”

All of a sudden, the whirring air around him starts to shift. They’re not as intense anymore and slowly, he feels himself being lowered to the ground. The air ball doesn’t vanish completely, though, but now he can face the mage on the same level.

“Why not? It’s lonely staying here all alone anyway,” he responds. The gloomy face he wears dissipates little by little, letting a room for a small tug of his lips to take place before a full blown smirk is present. Keith couldn’t decide whether to feel relieved or annoyed, so he makes a face. The mage seems to think that’s funny because he is suddenly laughing and Keith feels the need to punch his face. Not for making fun of him, but because that laugh should be illegal for being so boisterous yet lovely.

“I’m sorry, you should have seen your face,” Lance says as soon as the laughter stops. “And also for attacking you, I guess, even if you kind of deserve it for being an ungrateful jerk.”

That’s fair, Keith doesn’t say because right then, Lance released his control over the air. Keith stumbles and just his luck, he lands with his bleeding leg and bruised ankle. He might have kissed the ground unpassionately if not for Lance’s arms that circle around his body in a protective gesture.   

Thank you, Keith wants to say and he does. Lance doesn’t say anything in return, but the feeling of his magic exploding around him, overwhelming his senses, is an answer enough.

He does say something else, though, voice barely a whisper. Their bodies are pressed together so Keith hears him anyway. “Why you don’t want to stay so bad, huh? Not even until at least your wounds heal nicely.”

Keith mumbles his answer to Lance’s shoulder. He feels sleepy. “I hate owing people things I couldn’t return to them,” _and now I owe you more than just my life,_ “I don’t want to drag you into my mess as well. If the Galra know you help me, you’ll automatically be in their execution list.”

His parents never told him anything but Keith has long since suspected the Galra wants his family more than just because two of them are shifters.

Lance snorts. “I’m already there, Mullet, so don’t you worry your pretty little head.”

_“When will you stop with those nicknames?”_

Naturally, Lance waves his comment off as if nothing. Keith would have jabbed him if he is not in so much misery.

“Anyway, to answer your previous question…” At Keith incredulous ‘ _Which one?’,_ he says, “Why do I care about you? The answer is I don’t know.”

They fall dead silent after that, Lance mulling over his own words and Keith scrambling from the hold, putting more of his weight on his good leg, to frown at him. Lance still doesn’t let go, though.

“I don’t need your _pity_.”

“Strangely, it’s not that.” The mage is fast to disagree. “Besides, you are a shapeshifter, for crying out loud! Reckless as you may be, with a proper training, you’ll be a proper threat for the Galra.”

Then he sighs. “The point is, even if I have no idea myself, I _do_ care about you and that’s that.” The mesh of colors mellows down, leaving the calm of unlimited sky and bright stars in their wake. “Although maybe, if you decide to stay longer, I can figure something out.”

Even after Lance let go of him, Keith feels warm.

“So, _Keith,_ what are you going to do? I’ll show you the way out if you’re so keen on dying or I—“

Keith moves forward and promptly stumbles. Lance catches him again, smiling.

“You seriously need to stop falling for me.”

“Says the jerk who froze the ground so I twisted my ankle,” Keith deadpans.

“Don’t give me that sass, Mullet. You didn’t deny it when I said you deserve it.”

He didn’t, really. So when Lance carries him back to the cottage, he only threatens the mage to stop calling him _Mullet_ —to which Lance sing-songs with, _“Nope, never.”—_ and prays that he make the right choice by staying.

At least, Lance’s magic is warm and safe and he’ll be okay. Not exactly forever, but at least for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Authlene: Updates will be monthly! That is unless one of us has enough free time to manage one more chapter or two. College is hell and I have finals in... 15 days. And Mel's exams/assignments been killing her too.... Great. Wish us luck T__T

**Author's Note:**

> Tell us what do you think? ＼(*T▽T*)／
> 
> Also, hit us up on Tumblr!  
> \- [Authlene](http://whitedarkangel.tumblr.com/) (screams at her about Klance, anime, kpop, or whatever you feel like screaming about~)  
> \- [dementedK](http://dementedk.tumblr.com/) (she's new to tumblr, but say hi anyway!)


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